


Just Another Day.

by Bluebuell33



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Post-Reichenbach, Sad, Sherlock's Birthday, dealing with grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:33:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebuell33/pseuds/Bluebuell33
Summary: It's Sherlock's 3rd birthday since the fall and John is dealing with it the best way he can.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47
Collections: Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes - 6.1.2020





	Just Another Day.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic popped into my head and begged to be written. I want to thank the wonderful @paialovespie for reading it and fixing my tenses that seem to have a mind of their own and may still. Enjoy. <3

He didn’t need to look at his phone or a calendar when he woke to know what day it was. It had been looming there all through the holidays. Teasing him, taunting that another year was passing. Another year without Sherlock. 

He had dragged himself out of bed, dressed, had coffee and left for the clinic just like he did every day. It was just another day, he tried to tell himself as he rode the tube silently, making no eye contact with any of the other passengers. 

_He sometimes wondered if they knew who he was. Did they recognize him from the papers or the photos he once put up on the blog?_ He really hoped most days that they didn’t. That they just saw him as another quiet traveller going on about their day. 

Especially today. 

He didn’t want to talk to anyone today. He wanted to mindlessly work then go back to his tight flat and drown himself in something strong.

Halfway through his workday, he received a text from Greg inviting him to the pub for a pint. He declined but Greg wouldn’t take no for an answer, so after work, he found himself catching a cab to meet Greg. 

Three pints in Greg brought up Sherlock. He tried not to flinch at the mention of him. This was the first year he hadn’t gone to Sherlock’s grave. The last two years, he had spent the whole day there, just sitting and talking to the stone. Not this year. 

This year he had been treating it like any other day. He says so to Greg, trying to keep the growl out of his voice. From Greg’s reaction, he hadn’t done a good job of it and the man goes quiet, buying another round. 

He drinks angrily, wishing it was something stronger. It’s only 7pm… He orders a shot of whiskey. Empties the glass, asking for another then another. 

Greg puts a hand on his arm, asking him to go easy. He throws off Greg’s hand, shouting that no one tells Captain John Watson formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers what to do. Stomping from the pub, he finds himself wandering down the street away from the direction of his flat. 

It doesn’t take long for him to see that his feet have led him to Baker Street. Even his feet are against him today. _He still had his key, didn’t he?_

Unlocking the door, he stumbled up the seventeen steps through the green door at the top and into the red chair still sitting across from the green leather one. 

_Home._

Closing his eyes, wrapping his arms around his own body, he let the tears fall that he had held in all day. Here in the quiet of 221B where no one could see, he sat crying for a man he would never see again. The man that saved his life, but when the time came he couldn’t return the favour.

His eyes grow heavy, closing tightly as he drifted in and out of conciseness. A blanket could be felt draping across him, gently. A hand brushing softly through his hair.

“Happy Birthday, Sherlock.” He whispered. “I miss you.”

“Thank you, John. As do I.” Came a quiet reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a comment and let me know what you thought. You can also yell at me on twitter @Octoberisblue. Thank you for reading. Subscribe to keep up to date on any of my new stories. <3


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